Blood Lust
by Ayakashi
Summary: Ryou is a falling angel, quickly losing sight of the light, and Bakura is a ruthless demon who hunts humans at night. When the two tormented souls meet, a devastating relationship of blood and lust blooms. AU Yaoi. ON HIATUS
1. Ch1 Attempted Murder

_BLOOD AND LUST_

Warnings: AU, OOC, There will be hinting of other yaoi pairings, including one-sided affections dealing with Seto or Malik. Bakura's the demon, Ryou's the angel, they fall in love. . . Except in the process of writing I got sick of seeing tender-innocent-perfect-little-Ryou-angel, and gave him bad habits and stuck him in a dark depressing world, (Bakura, already acts in such a way, therefore is always in character). Beware OOCness, but Yugioh never goes in-depth with Ryou's character, and we don't know he he'd act is he was angry/scared/lusty/etc, so for all I know, Ryou-kun might be close to being in-character. (Though, at times, I totally doubt it).

A/N: I wrote this a really really long time ago, so the writing style changes throughout. I'm not satisfied with this beginning either, but am presently too lazy to go back and rewrite it. Please stick with it and read it anyway.

Disclaimer : I do not own it. I don't. The Bakuras' belong to Takahashi Kazuki-sensei.

_Ch.1— Attempted Murder_

----------------

The shocking ice-blue eyes of the demon glittered maliciously like stars in the darkness. "Bakura," a cold emotionless voice spoke into the silence, "How much longer do you think you plan on waiting?"

"Seto," The other demon snarled. "Stop getting in my business. And don't doubt me. I can do whatever I want." The other beast's deep garnet-red eyes narrowed.

"Bakura," The blue-eyed demon, Seto, spoke in his usual flat tone as he waved a hand carelessly. "It's not that I doubt you. But I have done my duty. However, _you_… When was the last time you tasted human blood? Has it actually been a full moon-cycle? If you wait longer, your status as a demon may diminish, because you were too pathetic to make yet another sacrifice. Hell doesn't forgive easily, and _you know that."_

"Seto, I know very damn well how it works. For bloody sake, we've been stranded here as vampires for centuries, haven't we? Stop telling me what to do. Go boss around Malik or—"

"_Malik_," Seto said, and for the first time, emotion was twined in his careless voice. Anger. "That worthless half-demon— he's as good as mortal. We should have demolished him the day he asked to help!" Seto's fangs glinted in the shadowy light as his lips peeled apart to laugh— a deep mirthless sound— at the memory.

Bakura ignored him and crossed his arms in mild disgust. "Where _is_ Malik anyway?"

"Probably..." He paused to look mocking and thoughtful, "doing something _'fun'_ with that shadow-clone of his. Or perhaps having _another_ sort of fun. _That_ game— The one where they lay in bed, tangled in sweaty sheets, and moan and toss around and cut each other with their claws in such disgraceful ways. I would bet you a hundred human souls that he's on the bottom!"

Bakura didn't laugh. He had never found Seto's sense of wit amusing. Seto was very sadistic, even for a lifeless demon, and dark jokes about sex and pain made him laugh like none other, though the laugh itself was always hollow and reflected none of his real emotions or intentions.

He did not mind Bakura's indifference to his jokes, though, because Seto hardly cared, about anything at all.

Seto stood up suddenly, and Bakura glanced up at the form in front of him. Tall and slender, with bloodshot stone-cold blue eyes, long dark brown bangs fell into those blank blue eyes. He had claws on his long-fingered hands, like talons, that could slice through human skin at one swipe as if it were mere tissue paper. Leathery, torn, hooked wings were folded on the demon's back, and his teeth were jagged as a wolf's.

Bakura was slightly shorter, though still tall. His hair, a mane of tangled white strands, contrasted with his bright eyes, the color of frozen garnets, and a very strong well-built form. He wasn't wearing a shirt at the time but almost always wore a long dark overcoat that flared at the hem.

Seto sighed and stretched like a cat, exhibiting his fangs in a yawn and his lethal claws as he unfurled his fists. Seto sent a quick blank glance at Bakura over his wide back as he stood up. "All you have to do is kill a human, and take some of his mortal blood and soul. As long as one of our clan murders, the _'hell ritual'_ will be sufficed."

Bakura nodded. "I can't last much longer without blood anyway. I'll kill one tomorrow night."

The other demon laughed hatefully, "Moron, when else could you? Going out in the day is not advised."

"You've snuffed 'em in the daytime before, " Bakura retorted. "Humans these days; Utterly and completely oblivious. They wouldn't notice anyway—"

Seto scowled and interupted Bakura's angry ranting. "Circumstances were different back then. It was easier to change forms, and humans weren't as technologically advanced as they have become in the recent decades. Now _go away._" Seto suddenly lashed out— his claws scratching thin parallel red lines across Bakura's cheek.

Bakura pulled back and without even moving, (at least visibly), he had a silvery dagger out and ready to puncture Seto's exposed chest.

Seto twisted his wrist aimlessly, and a splatter of blood dribbled from the spiked nails.

"Tomorrow." Bakura sheathed the dagger in a strap on his thigh with a snap, shot Seto a nasty look, and stepped into shadows to disappear.

--------------

"Fuck Seto," Bakura snarled as he leapt down and sprawled out on the broken couch in his lair. He shook his head— the long white hair spraying cold water all about. It was raining. Not the pounding thunderstorms that he preferred, but the mild thick rain that fell silently and came with an opaque and charcoal-colored sky.

"He acts like he can boss me around— that shit-head, lowly bastard—" Bakura was hissing to himself, when he suddenly heard a moaning through the crumbling half-wall that surrounded the dump he considered his home. Bakura's tongue flicked the air. A second later Bakura recognized the dank scent and cursed as he clambered up.

"_MALIK!"_ Bakura growled and looked down at the limp form lying stretched out on the mud of the alley.

Malik's black t-shirt was torn, and the remaining shreds were plastered against his deep honey-colored skin from the pelting rain. His acid-wash jeans had a large rip running exposing a thigh that was veined with crimson blood. Malik's pale blond hair was slicked and dripping with the rain, but most peculair was his wings that were exceedingly torn; gaping holes and slashes were hanging in a half-unfurled position carelessly, pressed limply in the mud underneath him. Bakura stepped on one carelessly as he neared, grinding the leathery flesh into the gravel with his heal. An almost-drained liquor bottle was craddled in Malik's slackened arm.

Bakura lifted the bottle and threw back his head to gulp down a sip of whatever the alcohol was. He spat most of it back, disgusted by the flavor of the salty rain-water mixed in. Bakura flung the bottle onto the ground and stepped on it— the glass consequentially broke under his strength. He kicked the shards at the boy lying before him.

"_Malik_. . ." He spat.

The demon stirred. Lucid violet-white eyes flashed open and stared blankly and unblinkingly upwards into the green-gray of the rain. "I . . . _Bakura?"_

Bakura kicked the boy's side. "Get up you worthless human."

Malik moaned at the kick but didn't budge.

Bakura's lip curled, "I said get up!" He grabbed Malik's shoulder and yanked him forward, ignoring the fact that his claws were digging into Malik's shoulder blades so that his skin puckered in. Malik sucked his breath in pain as he limped behind Bakura.

"I . . . I thought I could, but. . . the. . . _It._ . _. was too strong."_ He hung his head, the pair of desperate violet eyes looking anywhere but into Bakura's.

Bakura was unsparing. Weakness disgusted him, and made him physically sick. "Malik, you fool. It's not like you're ever going to be strong enough to take on a fully grown demon!"

"But it was minor one! Very weak!" Malik persisted. "It was only half-demon, if even that!"

"Like _you_?" Bakura snarled.

"I'm a full demon, and you know that. I was reinstated on earth as vampire class, when I left Hell, last century. And you know that, you bastard--"

"You sure don't act like one. You might as well still be that mere goblin writhing in the low states of Hell." Bakura commented. "You aren't even strong enough to qualify as a true vampire."

Malik glared, his white-violet eyes pierced the others with raw and fresh anger. But he didn't say anything.

Malik sighed and picked himself up from Bakura's broken couch. He shot one glance over his shoulder at Bakura before stretching his skeletal wings and prowling off into the rainy city night.

Bakura groaned. Malik wasn't really all that younger than he and Seto, but he was so much less experienced and much more vulnerable. Seto had no tolerance for Malik at all, but that wasn't exactly unusual, considering that Seto hated any company besides the night shadows and was the least social being that Bakura had ever met. Even for vampire demon standards.

As soon as any scent of Malik had disappeared, Bakura felt restless. His blood was pumping in his veins, his body was sweating profusely, though of course there was no odor, since his body wasn't human enough to make one. He wanted to get out there and slay something. Bakura's throat was dry. His head rung slightly as if he had a head-ache of sorts, and his outer senses were numbing and blurring, yet becoming more acute and direct as he sat there.

_I told Seto that I would take a kill tomorrow, and maybe I will. The lust for blood has become to hard to further resist. I will slay tonight,_ and _tomorrow, if there need be._

The rain would serve as an efficient cover.

­­­---------------

Bakura shut his eyes and breathed in the dirty fumes of the night streets.

Human stench was everywhere. It was a pitch dark, rain was falling endlessly from the above blackness that was a so-called heaven. The darkness would have concealed any demon perfectly, but as a precaution, Bakura had altered his form, ridding himself of the black wings, and donning a more human outer appearance.

Suddenly he heard a sound. Concealed within the darkness, a form unknowingly rushed towards the demon_— seventeen-year-old boy, _Bakura detected from sniffing the air_. Been drinking— likely to be returning home from a rave or party of some sort— he's probably cutting through alley to get home faster and maybe escape some night gangs…_

Bakura's claws gripped the hilt of his dagger. The boy's fate would be much worse tonight. Gangs and other sorts of human worries couldn't compete with a stalking demon, both lethal and immortal. The boy dashed past Bakura, dismissing the dark blur as nothingness, and was toocaught up in his own hurried stride and panting—

"Now, now," Bakura stepped out of the shadows. "Slow down," he ordered.

The boy whipped around in surprise. "Huh—" He tried to turn and run, as anyone would after being cornered by a demon, but found that his body wasn't responding properly. His feet felt as if they were glued to the cement! _Huh?_

Bakura stepped forward.

The boy's wide gray eyes shone with fear. The clouds shifted in an appropriate timing and silver moonlight splattered into the alleyway. The boy noticed that the dagger pointing at him was glittering in an odd way, almost innocently in the dimness. He looked up into his captor's dark red eyes.

"What— _Who_—?"

Bakura yanked back— a rope of black leather that came from seemingly nowhere, made a snapping sound as it whipped through the air and slapped up against the boy's back. Blood seeped through the boy's blue t-shirt, staining a ruby-colored stripe. But the red didn't last— and with the drizzling rain, washed away.

_No good,_ Bakura thought, and kicked the boy hard before flinging him onto the ground. The boy rolled over in pain, suddenly unable to fight back, and Bakura whipped him again, blood seeping once again through the thin material of his clothes. But as the rain kept falling, each splash landing on the thin cotton material, it continued to spread the blood across the material like little creeping vines, and then washed away.

Playing with the prey was always so much fun. Torturing them, before the eventual murder. Bakura the vampire, and his beloved sadistic ways.

Bakura pulled the boy up, his deep garnet-colored eyes laughing at the bruises and cuts already welling up on the weak human's body. Bakura threw the boy—and he slammed into a dumpster down the alley. The boy's head hit the metal hard, and he dropped limply into the wet asphalt and lay still, sprawled unconscious on the wet asphalt.

_Time to finish this task_, Bakura thought mercilessly, about to step forward.

In the split second before he moved, something rushed past him and the demon was shoved aside.

Another human!— But then why hadn't Bakura smelled or at least sensed him near? Was it one of the first boy's friends, rushing to his aid? The third person dashed down the alley so fast Bakura was sure the person was skating, but definitely not walking.

Bakura was about to leap out of the shadows to figure out what was going on when a white light flashed— Bakura cried out and cringed in surprise.

Unlike many well-known vampire tales, demons weren't hurt by light, but it was so blindingly bright that Bakura was stunned numb. Suddenly the light dimmed and that third human, the one that had just dared to interfere, was kneeling over the limp form of the other boy.

Bakura snarled— he'd have to kill this one too, for interrupting— he stepped out of the shadows to look closer, but then pulled back in shock.

This third person, kneeling in the mud over the limp form of the prey, had long hair just like Bakura's, though slightly less wild and less silvery. At first Bakura thought it was girl, judging from the lithe frame and long hair, but then realized a moment later his err.

It was actually a boy, who was wearing a light gray t-shirt, and ripped jeans, but even in the pouring rain and darkness, his features were clear as if lit by an unseen light, and his clothes looked as if they were dry rather then soaked like Bakura's and the human boy's clothes were.

The strange white-haired boy looked up, and golden honey-colored eyes flashed with menace. "I sense your presence, dark one. Leave now, this boy is mine."

Bakura snarled. "On the contrary, soon, both of you will be broken bodies laying across the gravel that we stand upon, of which I have drained life and blood."

"I wouldn't be so sure. . ." His look-alike whispered and to the demon's utter and complete shock, the boy turned away.

"Are you all right?" The look-alike asked the prey's body.

Bakura laughed. "The human is too harmed, too weak and frail, probably dead by now, to respond—"

But right as he spoke, the injured human boy's supposed-to-be-limp head was lifting up. The boy's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he blinked above him. He gasped and pulled away, first thinking that it was Bakura, then realized that kneeling at his side was another white-haired boy who had wide honey-brown eyes that shined with kindness.

"Um. . . thank you. . . I. . ."

Bakura gawked, and without noticing he stepped a few yards back.

_What the hell? Why was his prey _alive_?_

The prey-boy looked at his hand, but wasn't able to see the unscarred and perfectly white flesh. Only moments ago his wrist had been broken, even if the boy wasn't aware of it.

Bakura was. He stared. The prey-boy looked up at the white-haired intruder, Bakura's look-alike, seeing him perfectly. _Weird,_ the boy thought. _Maybe it's the angle of the light_, His human brain searched for an explanation on why he could see the white-haired boy when everything else was in darkness.

"What happened?"

"Oh. Some kid from a gang was here. He was going to mug you." The white-haired boy nodded. "He's gone now, so please don't worry. I promise."

The boy extended a pale hand, his smile genuine and gracious. The boy seemed shocked but accepted the hand and help standing up. He looked nervously down at his feet. "Thank you, kind stranger." ((A/N: Whoa, that sounds corny.))

The white-haired boy nodded. "It's nothing. Please— please leave here. The best luck will be on you side— I assure you that no harm shall come upon you on your way home. Not this time." He laughed, assuringly and gently. There might as well have been a golden light shining about him, for as he spoke the world seemed to still, becoming quiet, passive, and sincere.

The teen stared up at the white-haired boy. He nodded slowly, "Thank you, I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't saved me—"

"Just doing my duty." The look-alike replied softly. He watched the other boy leave, scurrying off into the darkness, though not without shooting the white-haired boy a quick curious glance.

"I know you're still there, come out." The white-haired boy said, his voice dropped a few pitchs, a toneless whisper to apparently no one.

Bakura glared from the shadows. The fool! The price for interfering with a demon's prey wasn't a pleasant one; he was going to die for this critical mistake. . .

"Don't pretend that you can't hear me." The white-haired look-alike was saying. He had shut his eyes but continued to whisper effortlessly into the night. "I know you're there in the shadows— lurking, as your type so often do—"

"We don't lurk." Bakura snapped, stepping forward angrily. "We stalk and we prowl, but alas-- no, never lurk."

The boy's eyes snapped open.

Bakura felt his breath intake sharply in shock. The honey-colored depths within those eyes shined in the darkness, like lost golden rays from a hidden, powerful, shining, sun. Something about those golden orbs pierced him.

"It's all the same."

Bakura didn't respond, just glared into those haunting golden eyes. This boy was maybe about three inches shorter than him, with a form that was greatly more lithe and slim. It was utterly strange that this mortal human boy would have such similar features to the demon— inside, Bakura was rather disturbed and nervous by the fact.

Bakura glared. "You may have saved that mortal human— _how_, I'm not sure, He just— _healed_. Healing like that is not a human trait, and that kids was sure as _hell_ human. Before I kill you, explain what you did to him!"

"That's were you are wrong." The boy said, his voice almost flat with calmness. He was being threatened by a demon, yet refused to show an ounce of fear! Bakura was highly offended.

"You're wrong. No one is dying tonight, at least not at your hands."

Bakura bristled. Why was this boy _not_ afraid? This had never happened before; the humans always cried and shrieked and whimpered and froze in fear. Bakura drew back his arm and slashed forward, but white fire lashed at his finger-tips as soon as they touched the pale boy's skin— it burned and twisted like woven flame his underneath his fingers—

Bakura screeched in shock rather than pain and yanked his fist back. _WHAT?_— The boy had blocked him with some sort of shield made of pale fire!

"What's your name, boy?" Bakura spat. This murder was going to be a harder fight then he had been anticipating

"Ryou," The boy said quietly. "And you?"

"I—" Bakura sneered, "I, it does not matter, not when you will be dead within moment's time."

But Ryou had already raised his hand awkwardly, he extended his palm almost as if to reach out and touch Bakura's cheek and shut his eyes. "You are the vampire, a cursed and powerful demon, Bakura. . ."

How did the boy know his name?

"For such an experienced demon, you do think quite loudly. Almost obtrusive. You don't even attempt to conceal such thoughts." Ryou shrugged, softly lifting his hands away from Bakura's cheek, and opening his eyes. Dark golden lights flashed within them.

"What are you?" Bakura asked harshly.

The shining eyes flashed with mirth to match the smirk gracing the boy's face. "I am, other than you. And yet, human I am not."

Bakura made a low growling sound in the back of his throat. "I detest riddles," Bakura shifted the dagger in his hand, "Tell me."

Ryou eyed the dagger lazily. "You cannot kill me with such a simple weapon. I am immortal, same as you, and therefore cannot be killed. I cannot fear you."

Bakura sheathed the dagger. "Well then, if you're an immortal— you have to be a demon! And if you're another demon, then I am the stronger one— I will obviously over-power and kill you!"

Ryou's calm face twisted. An irritated expression spoiled his features. "I told you, I cannot be killed!"

"No, a demon can't. Not by usual means. But by _another_ demon—"

"Dammit!" Ryou yelled, irritated, his expression mutilating all the way to look angry. "I am not something so— I'm not a goddamn demon!"

Bakura, about to attack, but halted. "Eh— then what _are_ you? Tell me so that I can kill you—"

Ryou didn't say anything, just sighed.

Bakura's pale fists clenched, a trickle of blood ran down his wrist. His claws were cutting into his palm. . . He wouldn't kill the boy until he knew what was going on! But threatening him to death had no seeming effect. . .

Bakura suddenly leapt forward, he swung the dagger and slashed with his claws—but then next moment he found himself lying sprawled in the dirt! _What the hell,_ Bakura thought.

Down the alley stood Ryou, glaring at the demon with his fists clinched tight, and wings erupted in the air behind him, like a curtain of white fire. As Ryou stepped forward, Bakura noticed that his clothes were seeming to become translucent, as if his skin was glowing so strongly his clothes began too dissolve, as if he was naked. Without realizing it, Bakura quickly lifted his eyes awkwardly.

The golden eyes that met his own were illuminated and shone with a great inner sort of liquid fire.

Bakura felt his own great malformed wings flinch and fold out behind him.

"An _angel_ . . ." Bakura said, sickened at the idea. His arm still burned form Ryou's fire, he looked down and saw a red line running up his pale arm. Bakura hissed in the low of his throat and bent over to retch in disgust at the idea of being defeated by an angel.

"Stand. You pitiful demon," Ryou said, watching him firmly, fearlessly facing the red-eyed vampire. "I healed the boy after you attacked him. Otherwise, he would've died. I could not let such a thing happen."

"_I_ will die if I don't get any blood!" Bakura whispered coldly. "Just because I'm not as pure as a human, it doesn't mean that_ I_ should die, or starve? Why did you have to interrupt?"

"It's my duty." Ryou repeated blankly.

"Well then, you'll grow to regret that _duty_ of yours, especially when I find a way to kill you." Bakura glared at the boy.

"If you insist in continuing to kill, then we will meet again. See if you can kill me or not." Ryou said quietly, almost teasing. "Until then—"

"Hey bitch— don't you retreat in fear! I'm not done with you yet!"

Ryou looked at the demon as he turned away, his wide eyes wings folded in behind him, disappeared, and he stepped forward into the dark and soundlessly vanished.

Bakura was left in the alley, standing there as the cold rain continued to fall down from the heavens. . . _Heaven_, a place he would never chance to go, nor want to. It was Hell for him, and would always be.

That damned angel, it had escaped him. For now.

--------------

(A/N:) If you read the whole damn thing, I love you. (I can write LOOONG chapters.) Read on, please. And reviewing too would be very nice. I'll cut the chapters shorter, too, this was just the first one, the longest.

As I've said I wrote this a LOOONG time ago, but for some reason decided to dig it up and post it. The writing style changes a bit.

Ryou will get a much bigger role as the story progresses, don't worry, if you're a Ryou-fan. It kinda evens out, you know.


	2. Ch2 Lust for Blood

BLOOD LUST

A/N: Wow, the name of this chapter so totally relates to the name of this story! Isn't that amazing? Read onwards please.

_Chapter Two: Lust for Blood_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryou rolled over. Something was keeping him from falling asleep, which was very unusual, considering the fact that sleeping was usually a feat he put no effort into accomplishing. Insomnia wasn't exactly an issue which bothered immortal being.

_That demon. . ._ Ryou though, realizing what was irking him. _How dare he? How could he hurt such defenseless humans like that! He may need their blood to survive, but I don't care. It's too wrong and immoral— the whole demon species is. What kind of sick creature lives off killing others? It's disgusting! They disrupt the circle of life. Why'd God even create them? They must be the result of some mutation, one of His beloved creations, gone _wrong?

Ryou turned on his other side, but felt as if the mattress was pressing sharply into his shoulder. Ryou lay still for a half-moment when the pushing into his side became unbearable. He growled and flung the thin linen sheets aside as he climbed from the bed.

Tonight, sleep was deliberately refusing to take him.

He glanced at the alarm-clock. It flashed "3:10 A.M." in bright neon red square-shaped characters. It was too early to go out; nothing was happening. . . Ryou groaned and flung himself back upon the sheets.

_Bakura_. . . Ryou thought, then opened his eyes and frowned. Why was he still thinking of that damned vampire?

_It's because, tomorrow, he's going to hunt again, and murder another innocent human. I cannot let that happen. I already know what he's up to, and I'm the only one who can stop it. Stop_ him.

_The humans are too weak to save themselves. It's our duty to _save_ them, and not only from the Damned Ones, but also from themselves. _

_Humans are so foolish, they create horrible war and conflict amongst their own kin! How unworthy they are-- It's almost as bad as the demons. Like Bakura—_

_Why can't I stop thinking of that stupid demon? Damn that Bakura . . ._

Ryou groaned and clapped his hands to his head with more force than intended. Ryou pulled his hands back and felt his cheeks sting slightly. Maybe the pain would divert his thoughts. . .

_Pain. _It was something he knew unusually well.

"_Shut up_!" Ryou mumbled at himself, and stuffed his head under his pillow as if to suffocate his thoughts. His thoughts, all leading towards demons, and Bakura. Or pain.

Always pain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"_We will meet again. ._ ." Bakura mumbled and paused to suck some more blood. His tongue snaked out to lap the red juice that was dribbling down his chin. . . blood, it was such a bright, beautiful thing.

Suddenly the door swung open and Bakura couldn't help but jump slightly. He quickly hid his hand behind his back as Malik stormed in. He hated Malik for barging into his wreck of a place for no good reason— and by his standards, _none_ were good.

Malik stood there awkwardly for a moment, then whipped around to glare in an indignant way at Bakura.

"Just dropping in, hope you don't mind— What the hell are you—" He moved faster than Bakura had expected, and grabbed Bakura's wrist, which was immediately dropped as if it had singed his hand. Malik wore a disgusted frown.

"_Bakura_!" Malik hissed. "I can't believe you!"

Bakura shrugged and pulled his hand back up to his mouth. He dug a fang into the black of his palm, and pressed his open mouth against the hand to lap up the blood that erupted there. The flavor of the blood just made Bakura insane for more, but he had to resist. After all, it wouldn't be good if he sucked all of the blood out of his own body, even if his body created twice more the amount by the second, it would still make him extra vulnerable. . .

But his own vampire blood tasted so sour and bland and unappealing to the sensitive glands on his tongue. Human's blood was _so_ much better. It just tasted so much more fresh, more alive.

Malik frowned and looked away carelessly. Bakura pulled his hand away from his face, smearing the blood across his cheek, and looked down.

Blood and puss oozed from the gaping hole in his hand, his fingers slick and shiny. Bakura let the blood drip down to form a pool on the floor.

"What—" he raised his nose to sniff. His tongue flickered quickly between his red-stained fangs like a demented serpent's. "Shadow demon ._ . ."_

Malik nodded. He waved his hand lazily, and suddenly there was another creature beside him on the deformed couch. It wasn't _really_ there, hence the fact that it was just a shadow-demon, and only half-alive. Rather than of the dangerous vampire-demon breed, that Seto and Malik and Bakura were, shadow-demons were lesser and weaker. The shadow-demon's features couldn't even be distinguished, and the only way that it's presence could be sensed was that fact that the air beside Malik was being distorted and was puckering inwards slightly.

Malik had messed with an ancient binding spell that had awakened some ancient sort of Shadow Beast —one that he shouldn't have been messing with in the first place. In the end, he came out with a duplicate of himself, a lesser version of himself, given a soul slightly like his own, but it's existence was fueled by pure anger. Malik was pleased with himself, and in a way fell in love with the shadow-clone, naming it affectionately "Mariku," a miss-pronunciation of his own name. Or at least as in love as a literally heartless demon could be.

Bakura didn't understand many things about "Mariku," nor did he care to. Mariku was a stupid clone created from a broken revival-curse and a demon's anger. He was a phenomenon that only Malik understood and cared for. Mariku never spoke, though Malik claimed that he did, and that he could even _see_ the shadow-clone. Either Malik was lying, or around everyone else Mariku was simply there, tagging along after Malik silently. Seto enjoyed making fun of Mariku, who never taunted back, but Bakura just didn't give a damn either way.

"Bakura, if you're so hungry, we don't you go kill something?" Malik yawned, and wrapped an arm around the shadow-being beside him carelessly.

Bakura glared at him. "I'm going to tomorrow. I can hold it in for a single day, you ignorant fool."

Malik shot Bakura a disbelieving glance, and grinned. "Baku-chan, you just _ate_ your _own_ hand."

"Don't call me that," snarled Bakura. "I'm trying to build up my immunity. I can't be strong if I give under to my cravings such easily."

"Mariku agrees with me." Malik snapped.

"Mariku doesn't speak, nor does perhaps exist, you delusional freak."

"know damned well that he does." Malik retorted. Mariku shifted beside him, judging from the air that mutated and twisted, as if to prove his presence.

. . . And just because he couldn't be _seen_ didn't seen mean that hecouldn't be _felt_. The shadow that was named Mariku tightened his arm around Malik and nuzzled in Malik's pale hair. Bakura could sense Mariku's eagerness to get at Malik alone.

It was sickening.

"Get out of here— your stupid'_clone'_ is so horny thatit wants to go at you right here in front of me! I can _feel_ it!"

Malik rolled his eyes. "No, he wouldn't. But if you wanted to join us, you'd be _more_ than welcome."

Bakura felt another wave of lust resonating from the annoying half-being made of shadows across from him.

"_Malik_. . ." Bakura growled. "Get the fuck away from me! _Now_."

Malik jumped and blinked. He pulled Mariku closer to him and scowled. "Fine, we'll go now—"

Bakura pressed his bloody hand through where Mariku's chest would be— he felt the tensed air and vibrating shadow magic— Bakura pushed the demon away from him. But before he let the couple leave in peace he slashed at Malik quickly with his claws— he felt Malik's smooth skin snag easily underneath the pressure of his claws and he felt the blood seep onto his fingertips.

Malik yelped and whipped around, fuming. The black-T-shirt-that-was exposed a shoulder that had been was ripped open and blood was streaming down the arc of his back.

"Shit, 'Kura! Learn to control your temper—" Malik stormed off, angrily. His precious Mariku was licking the cuts on his shoulder, wrapping itself around him, lapping it up avidly, and then sucking on Malik's neck.

Bakura scowled at the younger demon and stepped back into the collapsing apartment basement.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Dammit, Seto!" Bakura snarled. "What do you want with me this early?"

It was four in the morning, maybe earlier, and Bakura had only stopped cutting-and-licking his hand routine for an hour. Which meant he had only slept exactly thirty minutes. He didn't _needed_ sleep, but even for a demon, it helped.

He looked down at the back of his hand and saw the raw red mark there. Hmmm, so the skin had already healed over.

Bakura stretched himself out, feeling the rusted springs of the mattress sway with his movement. The plastic that he lay upon was sticky with humidity and sweat, and he ignored the curling wire protruding through the mattress, and the fact one of the wires had protruded through the layer of damp plastic, and flesh, and had nestled itself inches inside of his flesh. . . Pain sparkled in a vivid manner in his side, but he ignored it.

Seto paced in front of him. "That bastard Malik. . . If he keeps getting caught—"

"He got caught— _again_?" Bakura mumbled.

Seto stopped his rhythmic pacing and glared through those hollow and lifeless ice-colored eyes at Bakura.

"Have you been listening to any damn thing that I said?"

"No need to lecture me." Bakura said, his voice brimming with sarcasm.

"Fuck you." Seto's fist slammed into the wall to express his anger. He yanked it back and glowered at the dent in the wall.

"I _was_ listening. But why the hell did he go back for the body?"

Seto glared at Bakura, hating repeating himself. "He couldn't resist the blood, even though the body he wasn't the one who'd killed—"

"So Malik was lured to a murder scene and since it was a fresh kill, he did what he usually _does_ to a dead body long. No biggy. What's new about that?_"_

"'What's new,' you ask? Well, for one, your self-mutilation habit isn't. I don't think that you have done that in years. If you were that blood lusting, why didn't you kill something?"

"That fool named Malik said the same thing. . . but I'm not weak." Bakura growled, glancing at his previously-injured hand. "I can last a single night— and I _did_."

Seto shrugged, and not only were his eyes dull with lackof concern or care, but his body language too. He seemed to shrug, expressing that it didn't matter whether Bakura ripped himself up or sliced his own body open or not.

For some unreasonable reason Bakura felt something contract inside his gut, as if he was suddenly wishing that there _was_ someone out there that would care.

"I doubt that you will last _to_-night." Seto said.

"I also doubt such a thing." Bakura felt that so-called '_thirst'_ for blood uncurl inside of him as an answer. His hunting instincts were more distinct than ever. "Just let Malik deal with his problems by himself. Don't get involved."

Seto shot him a slightly confused look and frown. Or it would have been, if his eyes actually _showed_ emotion. "I wasn't going to _help_ Malik," He said. "I don't do that sort of thing— _helping_." He spat both words in disgust.

Bakura shrugged. He remembered the wire that was presently dug snuggly into his side. Pain often made him angry. He pulled away, twisting the metal wire out of his skin and sidling into a sitting position.

"I'm tired, Seto." Bakura snapped, crushing the metal wire into a ball inside his fist. "Get away now."

"My pleasure." Seto responded curtly and ducked out of the room. Bakura listened to the other demon's heavy footfalls as he left the decaying, half-underground apartment.

Bakura shut the lids on his garnet-colored eyes and stilled, in a vain attempt to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bakura glared down at the squirming body. Stupid humans; why did they always try to put up a fight before dying? They kicked back, screamed out, even bit him— but they were never successful.

The human that was tonight's prey lay pinned against the ground under his knees. Bakura roared and flung himself forward. He opened his mouth and licked the neck, moistening the flesh, and a drop of spittle ran down his chin. . .

Bakura pressed his jaw against the neck, and felt his fangs press into the human's neck.

The human screamed in pain as the fangs buried in his throat and protruded into his jugular. The human made a choking and sputtering gasp as he kicked one last time and stilled. . .

Bakura bit harder. The blood seeped into his mouth. He opened it wide and sucked on the neck, scraping his teeth against the flesh gently and lapping up the redness like the crazy blood-thirsty beast that he obviously was.

Tangy and sharp, yet sweet like a fresh kill after a hunt. The blood, as it slid into his mouth, was still so warm.

"_STOP_!" Suddenly a shrill voice screamed out from behind Bakura. "Dammit, you demon— I said—_ stop it_!"

Ryou dashed forward and flung himself in front of Bakura, panting, and glared up at the demon.

Bakura was too engaged in his thirst to respond. He threw back his head and screeched in anger. His white hair whipped up in the wind and his red eyes narrowed. His claws were shaking with fury.

"_Shit_!" Ryou gasped in complete bafflement and irritation, shoving the demon aside. "The human— he's _already_ dead! Even _I_ can't revive him now. . ." Ryou rounded on Bakura, looking enraged. "_Damnit!"_

Bakura glared. Something was thrashing viciously inside of him, a terrible unfurling wrath. Like a werewolf under the full moon, no damned _angel_ would ever live to get in his way! It wasn't voluntarily. His body and hunger had taken control, rather than his mind. He needed the damn human's blood, and would destroy everything in his way to get it.

Bakura felt himself shaking. He wanted to knead his claws into human flesh, to feel his hands digging easily through tissue and viens, and then pulling away and swiping backwards— to see the sweet blood and flesh spraying. He needed to lower himself over a body and bite into the neck. His fangs slowly sinking into the soft human tissue_— he yearned _for it like the blood-thirsty beast that he was.

Possessed with a horribly powerful lust for blood, he snarled and struck forward.

Ryou was caught by surprise. He was thrown against the wall, his head slamming into the bricks— Ryou crumpled at the bottom of the wall and lay still.

Bakura dropped weakly down beside the body and hissed as he sucked on the flesh. A trickle of red dripped down his neck, his lips were sticky, the human flesh that he was biting into was becoming soggy and torn.

Bakura shifted his head to bite into the unbroken part of the neck— where the flesh was pale and smooth—

Something knocked into his back, and Bakura suddenly fell forwards because he whipped around, furiously.

Ryou hissed. He glared at the demon, his narrowed eyes shining with unfathomable amounts of loathing. Ryou's clothes had once again become translucent— as his body seemed to have a glow— his hair was tangling behind him in an invisible wind, great white bird-wings made of white-fire sheathed him.

Bakura eyed the angel with resentment, though by now his rage had worn off, and he was more irritated and furious.

Bakura glared into those illuminated and hardened golden eyes, he glared at Ryou's glowing arms— capable of much more power than they looked, he glared at Ryou's legs— unbelievably fast and lean and strong.

Bakura even raised his eyes to glare at Ryou's crotch, though only for a moment. Something inside his gut struck and Bakura felt his body tighten and convulse. He clenched his fist.

Ryou stood there a moment when suddenly he slashed forward with the invisible fire, and Bakura leapt back again in surprise.

Ryou let out a fierce war-cry of hatred and struck again.

Bakura retaliated with a swipe of his own claws— Ryou whimpered and leapt back. There were red lines slanting down his chest. Ryou noticed the injuries and that they immediately healed over, so that was blood simply dripping from perfectly healthy flesh.

Bakura slammed into Ryou— the boy flung himself out the way and Bakura crashed into the side of a car.

Cursing, he peeled himself off from the dark metal and dashed forward.

"What the hell do you want with me!?" Bakura screamed furiously, whipping around to rage at Ryou.

Ryou shook his head slightly. "Not with _you_." His voice was soft, gentle almost, contrary to his blinding rage. It didn't suit the amount of anger, as Bakura had been expecting a yell. "It's with _life_. I must protect it."

"Protect it? You keep saying that—" Bakura spat. "And who the hell gave you that duty?"

Ryou looked momentarily surprised at this question, as if he hadn't been expecting to hear such a thing, or as if it had never occurred to him.

"It's _been_ my duty from the beginning. No one _gave_ it to my kind." Ryou replied evenly. "Who gave the blood-thirst to the demons? Why do you hunt humans? Why do you kill? You are that way because you are. _It's just the way we are."_

"_The way we are?"_ Bakura spat. "How ironic! I kill because that's what my kind is _made_ to do— It's just the way we _are_— and yet somehow you find reason to fault me for being the way I am? You're a hypocrite."

Ryou didn't respond. His eyes were challenging.

"_Now just get the hell away from me!"_ Bakura yelled. He dropped down over the dead human's body and crouched over it protectively. "It's too late for you— Don't you understand? There's nothing left for you to do! This human is long dead!"

Bakura slashed the body's chest open and flung his fist into the lifeless chest, smashing the ribs. He squeezed the heart and blood exploded like a water balloon all over his fist. He lowered his face over the mutilated chest and sucked on the blood-soaked mess of guts and flesh.

Ryou's breathing was rugged. He stared at the demon in complete and utter disgust. "I'll make you writhe for this—"

Bakura looked up, his face smeared in blood, sneering. "Let's see you try."

Ryou spread his great fiery silver wings and pointed at Bakura.

_How pathetic; the wrath of an angel,_ Bakura sniggered.

"I WILL!"

As if in response suddenly a loud sound rung out in the distance. The sound got louder and both immortals recognized the two-note pattern as police sirens.

"I'm not through with you." Ryou whispered hatefully.

Bakura shrugged. "Then I guess I'll see you soon too, my little angel friend."

Ryou glared but refused to respond.

The sirens grew louder. And yet somehow, despite the noise, everything was silent.

"You'll never learn." Ryou whispered, his voice sounded surprisingly loud and in control. "I do understand that seeking revenge won't make a difference. I guess that means that I'll have to teach you a _lesson_." Ryou's golden eyes sparkled with some unreadable emotion.

"A lesson that you'll _never_ forget."

And the angel summoned all of his strength and attacked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(A/N): Oh yeah, just so you know, (if you can't tell by now), I HATE it when Ryou is seen as really really weak. Sure, he's the uke, but he doesn't have to so damned fragile… I hate the uber-weak/girly portrayal of the uke role. They can be weak_er _and more feminine than the semes, but only to a point. (The ideal uke, IMO, is Kamui from X).

Review, and I'll love you forever and ever. Whether you want my perverse love or not. Onwards, ho!


	3. Ch3 Trial of Love

BLOOD LUST

Citrus material? Sorta. Temporary 'M' rating? Perhaps, but really not necessary. And some OOCness? Whatever.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Yugioh, there would be no dueling at would've drowned, Anzu would be Pegasus's new wife and hence taken, and Mai... well... she's cool and dresses slutty... she'll be the relief character from the huge amounts of yaoi action.

Obviously, I do not own Yugioh.

_Chapter Three: A Trial of Love_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first thing Bakura became aware of was that he couldn't move. His body simply refused to respond to his commands.

The next thing he noticed was the fact that he was being chained down onto—

Something soft. He could feel the slick material against his bare back.

_Huh_? Bakura thought. What was going on? Where was he? The demon's eyes snapped open and he twisted around in shock.

Bakura lay on his back on a large king-size bed, in an old gray-walled room. There was a blank window at one end, smeared with dust and fogged over by a thick mist, hiding the view outside. The only light in the room was from the moon and city lights that lit the dreary glass panels of the dust-covered window and shined very lifelessly into the room. Besides a small old carved cabinet beside the bed, there were no ornaments or any other sort of furniture. And a door was hanging slightly a few inches open. The room was blank, depressing, and a little bit too _still_.

Bakura brought his eyes up to more important and close-up scenery. Silver cords were tightly looped around his ankles and wrists, binding him eagle-spread against the bed.

Bakura fumed. What? What the hell was going on? How had he let himself be bound? To let the great demon he was, be in this sort of restraint— It was so humiliating—

And to add to his shame, he realized that he was stripped of his clothes. Or at least his jacket, which, was all that he had been wearing. Bakura looked down and sighed with relief that his dark jeans were still intact . . . though for some absent reason, his fly was unzipped. . .

Bakura twisted in his bindings, trying to release himself. He fought against the silver threads, slashed at them with his claws, even tried to bite through them with his fangs, but they refused to give.

_WHAT IN FREAKING HELL WAS GOING ON? Why was he being chained down like this?_

There was a rustling outside the room. The door slid open a few more inches and suddenly a lithe white figure was standing there. _Ryou_ . . .

Bakura hissed. "WHY THE FUCK—"

"Shhh." Ryou raised a thin finger to his lips. "If you want answers, be polite, and maybe you'll get them."

"YOU BASTARD! JUST TELL ME—"

"Yelling—" Ryou droned on, calmly. "Is obnoxious. If you want answers; then _stop."_

"I can yell if I want to." Bakura spat. "I can murder if I want to. I can do anything I want— no one has the right to limit or bind me. I know no such restriction."

"But. . . I'm sorry to point out . . . but you already are in restraint. _Restricted_." Ryou leaned over Bakura, his lips hovering over Bakura's cheek, with his pale hair falling into the demons face. "_Bound_." Ryou's breath was warm on Bakura's neck for a moment before he pulled away.

"How—" Bakura snarled. "How did you manage this?" He shifted his body, trying to escape. Or at least be able to sit up and attack Ryou, who was still hunkering over him. Suddenly the silver threads tightened and he fell back against the bed. Pain seared up his limbs, and the silver cords tightened, digging into his flesh.

"You fell unconscious. . . I thought I would take advantage of the time, and of your vulnerability Of course, to teach you my said lesson." Ryou said bluntly.

"How—"

"Immortal creatures such as demons and angels do not fall easily prone to such human weaknesses as falling conscious, and losing touch with reality." Ryou nodded. "But you were so worn out. All it took was some of my power— my full potential, actually-- to send you flailing in the darkness."

Bakura was speechless. Ryou had attacked him? But he didn't even remember when. . .

Ryou shrugged. "Well, let us get on with the lesson." He pulled his mane of silver hair back and snapped a rubber-band into the pony-tail. Ryou beamed at Bakura, a childish leer, a look that quite disturbed the demon.

He then fingered the bottom hem of his t-shirt and lifted it off. He tossed it across the room carelessly, pulling back to reveal nipples that were pale pink and erect and pale skin that looked ivory white in the moonlight.

Ryou then, to Bakura's astonishment, reached down to finger the fly on his jeans. He tugged on it slightly and there was that snapping sound as the zipper unclasped and the faded jeans fell mutely to the floor.

Bakura stared at the boy. What the _fuck_ was he doing? Bakura writhed and struggled in his bindings his hardest yet— but the damned threads refused to release him. . .

Ryou stood before him. His pants undone, his shirt off— the dusty grayish light coming from the window illuminated the pale marble-white skin, making him glow. Ryou moved forward slowly, as if in a trance.

Bakura's breathing was becoming rugged.

"Oh, Bakura, you pitiful demon, this lesson. . ."

Bakura didn't move. Ryou clucked his tongue impatiently. It was apparent that if Bakura refused to cooperate, Ryou planned to force him.

Ryou fiddled with something in his hands and opened his palm to reveal something small— but that something glowed vibrantly between his fingers.

As he stepped closer to Bakura, he realized what it was. A syringe, filled with a thick and shimmery, luminous sickly canary-yellow liquid.

From that point everything rushed forward at once. Ryou was singing quietly under his breath, "_And if that mocking bird don't sing_—" It wasa child's lullaby. Bakura shuddered. The song, though Ryou was only uttering it so quietly and barely singing, the song filled his ears, blurring his mind and overwhelming his senses— Pain exploded in his gut—

Bakura twisted around, his garnet colored eyes widening, and he yelped in silent shock— fire seared into his intestines, and pain writhed over his stomach— a burning numb spread through his insides— the needle. He felt in his flesh.

Draining the yellow poison into him— Ryou sat there, humming, and pressing the syringe hard into Bakura's flat muscular stomach. _"—A diamond ring. And if that diamond ring don't shine_—" Ryou sang until he reached the end of the song. He looked down at the drained syringe and took his time as he extracted it out of Bakura's body with a "splunk" sound.

Bakura fell limp. "It'll paralyze you." Ryou licked the needle, spittle dripping down the tube. Immortal demons and angels didn't have to worry about things like AIDS. The smaller white-haired boy stood there for a few moments, looking over his wasted prey, and craddling the empty syringe.

Bakura's senses were slowly draining back into his body. He was paralyzed, so he obviously couldn't move, or smell or see, though his sense of feeling and hearing was already back.

But before Bakura realized what had even happened, he noticed that his legs, despite the fact that they were wide-spread, he felt a constricted feeling between his legs—the unfamiliar and rare tightening sensation.

And suddenly Ryou was kneeling over his body. His head was dipped. Bakura couldn't feel anything, or whether his tongue , since the smaller boy slid down the demon's boxer and preceded to rub and taunt him. He then ducked down and the demon could feel his moving forwards and back, and excited feelings sparked up Bakura's lower body. Sucking.

But Ryou was done before he had started. But even if Bakura could feel, he didn't _want_ to. He didn't _want_ to feel the heat of Ryou's body as he lowered himself over the demon. Moistening. The bed was suddenly very damp. His lower back, and his ass, were damp with a cool sticky liquid. Teasing. Ryou placed those surprisingly warm white hands on Bakura's hips and pressed himself against Bakura.

_THIS ISN'T RIGHT!_ Bakura thought in panic_. Angels are supposed to promote love— be innocent and pure and VIRGIN— NOT FUCKING RAPE DEMONS!_

And as if in response, Ryou seemed to be hesitating. There bed was damp with secretions and self-made lube. Though Bakura couldn't see the angel's face, and though he had no idea what emotions he was showing, Bakura knew that Ryou was standing a few inches behind him, just standing there. _Hesitating_—

Ryou suddenly acted. But not the in the way Bakura had been expecting— contrary to bailing out, Ryou flung himself forward and the bed sank with his weight as he was suddenly upon it— upon Bakura—

Pain and heat trickled into Bakura's limp body as Ryou entered behind him. After a few seconds of numbness it seemed to explode—internal fire and agony was all he could feel. A grunt escaped from Ryou, and Bakura inhaled sharply in pain, making a hissing sound, and felt an urge of defiance rush through him.

Ryou grunted, and shoved. Bakura's body convulsed and shook, his hands clenched, holding each fistful of the white sheets, and a wild moan escaped from him. The world was dizzy, hot, so painful, so sweaty, blurring-- he felt as if a firework had exploded within his lower body, his blood pounded, his flushed cheek seared as it was pressed against the bed's soft cotton--

The demon realized that he could once again taste the salty blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue. He sniffed the air, barelyableto breath between the shoving and gasping, and various smells of lust, blood, poison, mold, and everything else rushed in as he choked and seethed. His senses of touch had returned, but he was far too busy to take notice.

He felt Ryou. On top of him. In him. Yet somehow, even as the poison wore off, he still couldn't feel it. Everything near his waist was tingling and was slippery, sticky, cool, and inflamined. Ryou's hands on him felt gentle as he touched him and massaged with a quick ardent passion. There was a pounding, and he could almost hear his own non-existent heart slamming between a rack of iron ribs— He felt his back arch as the sensual feelings sent shivers through his body.

The pain, heat, anger— it all erupted inside him. Bakura was grabbed by his emotions and was flung into retaliation. Before he could allow the angel to come, Bakura's strength rushed back into his sleeping muscles. He screamed in blind anger, the silvers cords snapped and his black wings erupted behind him—and a razory wind slammed across the room, knocking Ryou away and off of him.

The angel was caught by complete surprise— he slammed into the wall, and sticky secretions splattered over a short distance of the floor. Ryou collapsed as his own wings shot out, now shining their bright white color from behind him. He tried to lift himself up from the floor, but fell back onto his elbows weakly, gasping, and eyed Bakura with wide golden eyes.

Bakura stood upon the bed, and he felt a fresh wave of anger-fueled power blasting through him. He still couldn't breath, he felt dreary and rugged and used up and his blood was still pounding through him. "You—"

"Stop!" Ryou choked, though this time he wasn't the one in control. "I— please don't—"

"Why should I not hurt you?" Bakura stepped down. He raised a foot and pressed it sharply against Ryou's neck, ready to crush him into the floor.

"I—" Ryou shut his eyes. Bakura pressed harder on his neck. "I— I only wanted to help!"

"HELP?" Bakura bellowed. "YOU REALLY ARE PATHETIC—"

"No—" Ryou winced. "I'm— but— If you had been _any _demon I wouldn't have! But— there's something— something about you—" Ryou muttered desperately.

Bakura didn't say anything, onlylet his prey struggle to continue.

"I— I don't know what— but, _Bakura_?" He looked up at the demon. "I know it's very pathetic, but I couldn't stop thinking of you— maybe it's because I hate you— Maybe it's because I really am a worthless fallen angel— lost and desperate— but—" Ryou froze, coughed once, and didn't continue speaking. He hung his head in shame.

_He really _is_ pathetic_— Bakura found himself thinking. --_But what was that? He couldn't stop thinking of me? Huh? _Bakura blinked and realized that, he, too, had been obsessed with the angel, though had not been able to admit it.

Bakura found himself lifting his foot. Ryou didn't say anything but took the best of the moment and crawled over to wall. Ryou wrapped his arms around his knees; his eyes were hidden under his bangs as he ducked his head.

Bakura stood there silently, lost in thought. He decided toactually try to acknowledge his emotions, rather than pretend that they didn't matter in this act-without-thought-and-kill world.

"I'm sorry Bakura." Ryou said suddenly. Bakura whipped around. Had someone just _apologized_ to him? What the hell--?

"I didn't mean for this to happen. I never wanted—"

"Oh, hell, why would I believe that?" Bakura interrupted angrily. "Why should I believe that you never wanted to fuck me—?"

"I—" Ryou denied.

"You wouldn't have even _tried_ if you didn't lust for that!" Bakura snarled. "And trust me when I say I know what '_lust'_ is— it's an overwhelming feeling that makes some want to kill, and others to love!"

"But—"

"You call yourself an _angel_?" Bakura spat. "What kind of angel has lusts for a _demon_— for a being that doesn't love back but kills instead—"

"BAKURA!" Ryou shrieked. "You don't understand—"

"Oh hell, I understand!" Bakura shouted. "Just because I don't know what love is—"

"_Love_," Ryou repeated. He struggled onto his knees andstumbled closer to Bakura, refusing to unlock his eyes from Bakura's.

"—doesn't mean that I can't—"

Ryou yanked Bakura towards him, they crashed unceremoniously onto the floor and suddenly Ryou's lips were on his. Silencing him, _kissing_ him--

Bakura's eyes widened in shock, he tried to pull away but Ryou was on top of him, pressing him against the floor, his tongue parting his teeth, sliding over his fangs pressing into his. Heat slammed through him, Ryou worked his way through into his mouth while his arms wrapped around his sweat-lathered body, and as the angel deepened the kiss Bakura's blood smoldered in previously sleeping desire-- he was caught up in a new sort of lust and passion-- but Ryou was already pulling away, his lips barely touching Bakura's, and then not at all.

Ryou's rugged feverish breath on his face was gone and suddenly Ryou was fleeing. He scurried across the room. Bakura noticed that the pale boy's skin was a flushed pink and that his forehead and chest and thighs were slicked with sweat.

"What was that for—?"

Ryou shook his head, a splatter of star-lit tears dancing on his cheeks and in the air. He grabbed the long cape Bakura had earlier worn and flung his smaller form inside of it, the large size of it fluttering around his body. "I'm sorry." He repeated softly and a second later the window swung open and with a swish of dazzling white wings, Ryou was gone.

"Ah!"

But like the first time they'd met, Bakura was left standing there, the wind blowing his spiky white hair back off his shoulders, his dark red eyes clouded over with lost emotions. And then he was alone, staring blankly out after the lost angel.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(A/N:) And that's the end of chapter three. I'm not really too sure how I feel about this chapter. It just all seems so unlikely, but I guess that's yaoi for you. I could have saved this stuff for later, so that the story would be more sensible, but I needed more action anyway. Oh well. . . .

Don't flame me saying "the kiss scene and the lemon/sex sucked" because _it wasn't a lemon! _Ryou was more like raping him, except not really, because Bakura wanted it (he just didn't know that he did). XP

Please be nice and review and tell me what you think!


	4. Ch4 Time

_BLOOD LUST_

Warning: A decent amount of OOCness. Ryou has a large share of that, (he's a masochistic angel that attempts to rape a vampire, so no duh!) Then again, we never actually get to see in-depth of his character, even in the manga, and when we do he either possessed/confused or simply totally out of it. One moment he's all reserved and polite, but the next he's exclaiming over gold Items and his "precious" Ring! So how I interpret his character might be close to accurate, for all we know, (though it's a bit unlikely).

Rated for swearing and self-inflicted violence. (And later, smut! But that's later...)

_Chapter Four: Time_

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bakura stared at the distant city lights, which shined like eyes in the utter darkness. Well, it _was_ the middle of the night for bloody sake, and yet it always shocked the demon that the lights and stars found reason to shine.

But as Bakura glared out over the night horizon, his eyes were unfocused, as if he was looking through the lights and overwhelming darkness. As if he was looking _through_ reality, rather than at it.

Yet reality is no mere veil or curtain. There is no looking through it, and no passing through it with a breeze. And denying it... would only lead to failure.

"How much longer do you expect to stay up here?" A sharp voice said from behind the crouching demon.

Bakura whipped around. "_Seto_, why the hell can't you leave me alone?"

The taller demon was standing in the shadows on the roof of the building. He looked very intimidating, with the wind whipping his dark cloak and hair, his wings half-opened, as if trying to catch a breeze, like dark and awkward leathery kites. His eyes were a very livid blue, almost glowing, and icy. It was a very odd contrast, considering how utterly lifeless they were.

Seto looked at Bakura with those eyes and shook his head distastefully.

"What has become of you?" He snarled. "Wasting away, laying about and day-dreaming, just like our dearest Malik-kun." The sarcasm was, as usual, extremely thick.

Bakura shot a disgusted glare at Seto.

"_Nothing_. Nothings _wrong_ with me." He sneered. "I'm absolutely fine."

The vampire demon narrowed those hollow blue eyes. "Something is wrong with you." Seto muttered. "You're acting like Malik. As if you can't bare to fight the pain— as if sitting on a roof-top in the night and gazing up at the heavens will make up for your problems." He spat.

Bakura felt slightly ashamed. "What else is there to do—"

Seto kicked Bakura, hard, with his heal. "Fool. Get up and act like a true demon! Fight, kill, something-- _anything_!"

"What are you doing?" Bakura spat. "You're just walking back and forth and yelling at me. What greater purpose does _that_ serve?"

Seto stopped his pacing, as if he hadn't even been aware of what he was doing, even though it was a common and usual habit of his. He looked down at Bakura. His eyes hardened and something odd flickered through them-- almost like some lost and desolate emotion, one that wasn't usually used, and therefore had been forgotten about and left to decay--

But it was gone.

Seto glared at Bakura. "I am leaving now. I shall not waste time speaking to such insolence. And if you happen to see that bastard named Malik, send him to me. I need to speak--" Seto slashed in the air with his claws as an explanation, proving that he was more intending to do, and it wasn't a simple chat, "--with him."

Bakura didn't bother to respond. Seto shot another of his dead-eyed glances at Bakura and faded back in the darkness.

"Dammit, why can't he just leave me the fuck alone?" Bakura snapped to nobody in particular. "Why can't he just leave me alone?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Across the city, locked up in a cheap apartment, there was an angel.

The white-haired, sometimes-winged, beautiful but awkward boy named Ryou, was glowering at the lukewarm water, which was pooled not only in his bath-tub, but also in misplaced puddles on the floor. The cold tiles and water sent shivers up the soles of his feet.

"Dammit." Ryou snapped, swearing offhandedly, leaning over the bath to pout at the leaking water. "All I want to do is cleanse myself of all of those sins—"

Ryou remembered caressing and entering Bakura for that one split second, and not only how exactly the demon's mouth had tasted, but even the salty secretions that came from lower down— Ryou's cheeks flushed a royal shade of pink. The angel suddenly filled with an inner-heat that burned like a disease in the inside of his gut. A sort of guilty pleasure...

That unnamed feeling somewhere between shame and lust...

Immediately flustered with the desire that was untwining like a striking serpent inside of his chest, and extremely confused, Ryou whipped around quickly, tripped, and fell right into the over-flowing bath.

Water sloshed onto the cracked ceramic tiles. Ryou felt the clothes that only seconds before had been light and cotton become thick with water and heavy, pulling him to the bottom of the tub. They clung to him awkwardly, as he twisted around, trying to get up.

He let out a roar of frustration.

Ryou again tried to get up, but his hands slid on the smooth sides of the bathtub and he ended up slipping yet again and crashing down painfully on the hard ceramic floor. He felt yet another tile crack underneath his elbow as he pulled himself up and limped out of the cramped bathroom.

"_DAMMIT!"_ Ryou bellowed, slamming the bathroom door so hard he heard even more water slosh out of the bathtub from the force of shaking the room. _Stupid mortal human contraptions_...Ryou glared at the door. _They're so easy to accidentally destroy..._

After re-entering the bathroom in an attempt to wipe the floor dry and ending up slipping on the wet tiles for a third time, Ryou kicked the door shut for the last time that night and sagged against the parched gray wall of his apartment bedroom.

"Why the hell am I such a klutz?" He muttered, sounding extremely vexed. "Aren't we angels supposed to be graceful, and fluid and gentle?"

_And I shouldn't forget 'innocent,' being a_ virgin _and not having_ any _sexual desires. . . It's all so damn ironic!_

Ryou peeled himself away from the musty wall and tossed the soggy shirt from his shoulders, deciding that for the moment he could ignore the water that was sloshing in his pants, threw himself onto his bed, exhausted.

But as soon as his moist back touched the sheets, Ryou felt a shiver ripple through his whole body. He leapt up and glared at the mattress and tangled mess of had-been pure-white sheets.

His eyes slid over the brown stains in a few places... Dried blood turned a rusty brown. That was something he knew quite well. This had to be at least his fourth set of blood-stained bed sheets yet to be replaced.

Sheesh, if anyone saw these, they'd definitely think that he was a woman with a period, or an intersexual or something, he definitely looked feminine enough. . .

He looked down. Upon this very bed he had _tried_ to _rape_ a demon! How sinful.

Ryou growled in disgust and felt so impure he wanted to retch.

But what made it worse, was the fact that Ryou could feel his insides rushing and twisting at the idea— he seemed to want _more_.

The white-haired angel slammed his window open. Cold fresh air would have been welcomed, but instead that damned city smog, humid and thick, rolled into the room like an ominous shadow. Ryou gulped in the stinking wind, started to cough, and then thrust the window shut again.

"Bakura..." He growled, not for the first time. "Why is it that I think of you so?" He shook his head, as if trying to clear the haunting thoughts. "Why is it that you—"

Ryou paused in mid-sentence. He looked out towards the sky that glittered behind the dusty window and sighed.

"Why..." letting his thoughts hang, and he finally slid his pants off. The dripping denim and cotton dropped to the floor with a muffled thud, and the naked boy stretched his thin arms, felt his joints crack, and shuddered. The piercing coldness that pressed into his body was completely different feeling than the warmer sensual desires he'd been aroused by the night before.

He collapsed on the floor, the wooden floor panels creaking underneath his thin body as he ungracefully slumped over. Ryou threw his head back, letting the strands of silver hair pool brightly against the dark and cold ground, and stared up at the musty ceiling.

The moonlight that managed to shine through the dust-smothered window into the room illuminated his flawless porcelain skin and ignited the glowing spark within his wide honey-brown eyes—

Ryou knew that he should get up and get dressed, because lying on the cold wood, naked and exposed, was foolish. But any movement seemed to cause him pain.

_Lonely. I am always so alone._ Ryou sighed and rested his head on his arm. _Why do I always feel so unloved_ _and desperate? Is there something wrong with me?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bakura's blood boiled.

_Gah, for once that bastard Seto is right. I need to get out a slaughter something, again. . . Something that would bleed and resist me would be nice. Something joyous to take advantage of . . . Something beautiful as the moonlight and rippling crimson blood._

"Beautiful?" Bakura knew that his own way of looking at beauty was very twisted. To him, spilled blood was much beautiful than any flower blossom.

Bakura turned the word over in his head. A beautiful being . . . something gorgeous to bleed beneath his fangs and claws. . . to kill. . . At first images of busty girls with long flowing hair went through his head. Defiant, young and pretty, with breasts the size of ripe grapefruits, with locks of shining hair, made just for ripping out of the skull— they were exceedingly fun to kill.

But almost immediately the picture of a certain angel erupted in his mind. Lithe and pale, golden eyes sparkling with secret emotions and loneliness, a half-hearted smile, with arched white wings flashing like blades— the naked boy in lust, flushed, bright, sweating, and very strong. More beautiful than any human could ever be. _Ryou_. Bakura wasn't a simple-minded human, and to him, Ryou was the most beautiful thing that could possibly exist in this hideous place called earth.

_An Angel. . ._ Bakura realized. _Such a craving, how can I even_ resist_? His blood must be the most delicious thing in the world._ Bakura hesitated._ But moreover, how can I possibly catch such a phenomenal prey, let alone even think of setting my goals so high? There's no chance that I'll ever even encounter the magnificent angel ever again._

"But I can't sit here and do nothing." Bakura decided, nodding to himself as his deep ruby-colored eyes glazed over, staring blankly out into the yet-darkening sky. "Ryou, wait for me." His tone was haughty. Not only was it pay-back time, but he'd get to have fun killing the gorgeous beast, and playing with him, too.

"I'll catch you, I promise… and when I do…" Bakura clenched his fist and leered.

"My prey. New prey. Precious. Utterly beautiful as can be."

Bakura's smirked.

"_Ryou_…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"For God's sake!" Ryou was screaming. He moaned and whipped around, slamming his arm unconsciously into the wall. He pulled away and frowned at the large dent in the pealing gray wall-paper. "Ahh— _Dammit_!"

"_I raped a demon!"_ He seethed. "I almost raped a demon. No, I _did_!" He clenched his fists and bit his knuckle sharply. Blood trickled down his wrist, and he wiped it on the bed. "Rape in itself is a crime. One that I almost committed! I need to be a virgin— and to stay one!"

Ryou tossed the razor onto the drawer beside his bed and looked down at the pale lines on his wrist. Already healed up. For once, he wanted to _feel_ the pain, dammit! But slicing away and feeling nothing at all, only an eternal numbness, the hollow inside of him— it wasn't any fun, and he'd gotten bored fast. As always when cut.

It had to be _extreme_ pain that he could actually feel. He loved the tingle of torture as his senses were torn apart, but almost everything wasn't powerful enough to cause the angel any remorse. It made him feel. . . _clean._ Something that bathing in heavenly springs never seemed able to do. Ryou was an angel that sinned, and every day he made himself pay for every single time that he broke the faith.

The only proof that he'd just been cutting himself, or ever did, were the faint and quickly fading red lines tracing across his arms, and the blood smeared across the wood panels and on his toes.

"Bakura. . ." Ryou moaned, arching his back as he lay down upon the bed carefully. "I can't leave it this way. I tried to rape you, to teach you a lesson— it was all I could think of at the time, I was corrupt and hallucinating, and you were so deadly and wounded and beautiful— I don't know what came over me."

Ryou sighed. It wasn't as if torture or pain could teach anything to a demon, it hardly worked on _him,_ and if anything, it was the illusion that worked. It was especially considering the fact that to even qualify as a fully fledged demon, the vampire must have been tortured for endless centuries in Hell. And just _talking_ to a vampire wouldn't keep it from killing in it's hinting and thirst for blood… Ryou rolled his eyes. _It'd be so much easier if they didn't thirst for blood in the first place._

"But it's not over." Ryou frowned at his white knuckles, flexing his pale fingers before him in the dim light. They were much too pale. He stabbed a spare sewing needle into the pad of his ring finger and watched the blood swell up like little ruby jewels.

"I. . . I know I'll meet you again. . . I can't leave it this way." He nodded. "I have unfinished business with you, demon."

_Is it just me, or does everyone talks to themselves like this?_ Ryou suddenly noticed, while washing his bloody fingers in the sink. _Is it normal, or is my sanity fleeting? Am I . . ._ _losing myself? My sanity?_

Shrugging the matter off, Ryou affirmed his predecessor thoughts. _Bakura, until we meet again. . . But I can't wait that long. I'm going to . . . hunt you down, and find you. And whatever will come our meeting, will come._

He dried his hands on a towel, and grimaced at the red-tinged fingerprints that remained after he lifted his hands.

Ryou leapt up and threw open his perched on the sill, and knocked the rusty old pealing shutters aside, and let them bang against the wall in the breeze. The warm wind, smelling strongly of smog and grime, brushed past him as he perched there, his silver hair cascaded behind him in the wind.

"_Bakura._ . ."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(A/N:)

Angels and Demons are like CLAMP characters, who do not have distinct sexualities. They're attracted to other beings for their personalities rather than what genital glands they have.

RYOU IS EMO! (It even rhymes. Sorta.)

Review! And if you do, maybe, just maybe, Bakura and Ryou will revert from these bad habits and make love instead! XD (Well, they will, anyway, but whatever… just review!)


	5. Ch5 Delusions

------------------------------------------------------------------------  
**_BLOOD LUST_**

(A/N:) Beware. A rather OOC Ryou, (but I guess that's the point of this story, or at least a given). Enough blood and gore to saturate an action seinen manga like GANTZ or Elfen Lied or perhaps X: the movie. (I'm joking). Hints of 'boys lurve' and yaoi. The usual...

_Chapter Five: Delusions_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryou dashed forward. The wooden shingles of the roof skidded underneath the rubber of his faded tennis shoes as he landed awkwardly, keeping his knees bent to prevent himself from falling. With another spring he stumbled forward onto the next roof, which happened to be all the way across the street. Ryou sighed. Even though it was midday, he was much too fast for a human to even see.

Ryou felt his muscles tense, and an eager ripple of pent-up strength shivered through him. He flexed his legs and bent slightly in order to leap off the side of the building, the air picked up, and Ryou was about to launch himself forward—

But the scream in the distant background brought him back to the ground. Quite literally.

Ryou landed on the sidewalk in a crouch. He glanced at the five-story building he'd just been standing on the roof of, and sighed. What now. . .

He took off running.

"_Ah!"_ A woman's voice shrieked, though it still remained too far off for any human ears to hear. It sounded shrill, and breaking under pressure and fear. "Give me— give me back my purse, my wallet—! _No— Stop touching— HELP!—"_

Ryou located the yelling to the deserted grounds at the edge of the city in one of the old forgotten store houses.

"Shut up, bitch! If you don't, I'll pull the trigger."

Shuffling sounds, choking, gagging and some whimpering.

"I wouldn't, if I were you." Ryou interrupted, snapping the shed's door open. The metal dead-bolt and latch might as well have been made of bubble gum for all the good that it did. Well-chewed bubble gum; easy to break and sticky. He spoke.

"Give her back the purse—and that— now. Don't touch her, either. And drop the gun. Step away." He stood there nonchalantly, with one hand was clenched in the pocket of his dull gray sweater. Somehow the boy managed to sound both bored and careless, yet equally harsh and demanding.

The gruff unshaved thug hunkering over the women had twisted around to glare at the small boy. There was some uncertainty to his movement— often known as hesitation— to his shuffling as he turned to stare at the boy.

Ryou. Small, lithe, frail-looking, maybe even child-like. The way that thewhite-golden day light radiated from the framed doorway behind him, falling into the darkened room, made him seem to glow. Innocence; it was a mask. But the golden eyes that sparked, were filled with feelings very different than innocence. Something dark and and powerful and unsettling stirred behind the sunshine orbs, and the man was unnerved.

"Let her go." Ryou repeated.

"You little boy. . . damn brat. . ."

The woman watched the boy glare back at the over-sized thug without resolution. He was so small compared to the man, maybe only sixteen—and her assaulter had to at least be in his forties! He had a gun. What the hell was this mere boy thinking? But he had come to save her, so maybe he had some sort of upper advantage—

The sound was sudden. So sudden, and so loud. The trigger, snap, and a metal click— and the shuddering 'bang' that ripped forward from the gun-barrel like some sort of close-range fire work—

As if in slow motion the boy fell onto his knees. The golden light coming from the noon sun outside was suddenly seeping forward, absorbing everything. The boy gasped, eyes widened in surprise, and started hacking and coughing, landing on his hands on knees, and coughing up blood. The cement was splattered in liquid crimson. The mane of silver locks fell forward, falling in front of his face, where the crimson droplets began to pearl.

A few strands of silver hair dipped in the pooling blood,soft as a feather tracing over water, and were stained like thick red thread.

He had shot. That bastard had shot. The woman watched in horror as the boy continued to gag blood, as even more deep redness blossomed through the back of his sweatshirt, over his small hands and fingers, splattering down his chin and neck.

Deep red liquid. Pooling on the floor, sloshing around under his collapsing knees. Angels bled. Who would've guessed? But of course this was nothing new.

A droplet of that blood splattered onto the parched white wall.

Ryou flipped around, his silver locks throwing blood into the air.

"So . . ." Golden eyes flashed, and through the silvery strands glinted mercilessly. "You like to play tough. . .?"

The man stared. This boy. . . had been shot in the chest. He was now climbing up right before him, and throwing his head back to laugh. Huh? What the fuck!

Both the man and the woman knew that the boy should've been dead.

"I see. . ." Ryou said, throwing hands back into the pockets of his grimy sweater. Bloody nails. Bloody sweatshirt. "I see— _let me save you."_

"Save—" But before the man could fully express his confusion the infuriated angel was crackling with energy and anger and had spoken..

"I hate dying." Ryou seethed. "You don't— you wont— understand. The penalty, for killing one of the Beloveds— someone Beloved by God— an angel— is _HELL_!" Ryou roared. "Do you want to die?" He stepped back, eye's snapping wide. His voice dipped and he leered. "How 'bout it?"

Ryou drew back his arm but before the man saw him move the boy had struck his hand through the man's chest and had torn his heart out.

Still beating, pulsating blood, as it splattered in a dying moment over the floor and his own body, Ryou clenched the man's heart in his fist.

"See you in heaven." He crooned, as his voice broke down, cracking sharply. A single silver teardrop dripped of the tip of his nose and splashed into the mess of red on the floor.

Silence. . .

And the woman gasped and fainted. Her loose blouse remaining disheveled so that an inch of lace bra and a few more inches of golden breast caught the dim sunlight, sultry. Her stolen purse lay forgotten across the room, speckled in glittering shades of rust.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Less then three miles away in a general southern direction, a demon crouching in a gloomy alley felt an immediate revelation come to the front of his mind, interrupting any prior thought, like a harpoon smashing into and through through the back of his head.

Death. The demon affirmed. Something. Someone— lay dead from supernatural causes. It was a demon's duty to know such things.

Seto? Malik? Was his immediate thought. No. Then is it another demon? The death he was sensing filled up his lungs as he inhaled; and the scent was so strong and demanding. Definitely not a mere human murder. Were there other demons trespassing in this area of the city?

He arrived at the site of the murder only moments later. Inside. The demon sauntered up to the door of the shed and glanced inside.

Bakura started in shock.

A man's body lay eagle-spread on the dank floor. Blood was splattered all across the floor in drying and peeling rust-colored blotches. The man's chest was still red and slick with fresh blood, and his rib cage was punctured inwards, the snapped ribs tossed about carelessly.

Bakura noted the stagnant glob of red tissues thrown carelessly down a few feet away from the body. He recognized the organ as what used to have a been a heart, though now was almost undistinguishable.

"_Nyaaah!--"_ A voice purred. "So you really came."

Bakura glanced at the boy who had been standing in the shadows of the warehouse. The angel didn't look blessed, pure, and clean. No, not at all, not at this moment. On the contrary, he was surely as far from such cleanliness as Bakura would've thought possible. The gray sweatshirt was drenched and soggy with matted blood, and his clenched fists had redness embedded into the nail-beds and in the creases of his fingers.

He didn't see the crushed metal bullet pressed in the angel's palm.

Wheels turned and things clicked inside the demon's stunned skull.

"You did this— _Ha!_ And you dare to call _me_ cruel. Oh, such irony! You rape people, and you kill them. How are you possibly any better than I?"

Ryou bristled.

"You faulted me for being the way I am—" Bakura continued. "Yes, my kind do kill, but to survive. And yet you, an angel, whose kind was created for the sake of preserving— yet you take human lives. You have no right to preach me on morals and what is right or not right to do!"

"You— you don't understand!" Ryou said shrilly, his voice raising shockingly high, so that it sounded like someone else's rather than his own. "You— a demon— you don't get it!_ Redemption_. It means nothing to you. That man— he killed me! But to kill a Beloved One, an Angel, is the worst of crimes, even if our kind don't die dead. I stole his life— to _save_ him— to prevent him from going to hell, and seeking vengeance, from becoming something as despicable as— as someone like you—"

"Murder? Murdering is a way of _saving_? You're mad. Sure, I can agree with such ideals, but isn't it a tad bit unusual for an angel to harbor such an outrageous opinion? There's nothing _wrong_ with death after all, even if your type fight so hard avoid it."

"No." Ryou said sharply. "You're wrong! It's not _murder_— many angels have done this sort of deed, if it's for the better—"

"No." Bakura repeated. "Not so many. You're the only one."

"Ahh— SHUT UP!" Ryou shrieked, grabbing his own head and dug his nails into his forehead. "You— you don't— you'll never understand! Never! _SHUT UP!"_

Bakura looked at him. There was nothing to say, only to look at the deranged and raging angel.

"SHUT UP!" Ryou wailed. Yet another droplet of blood dribbled down his stained wrist, leaking through the scalp of his silver hair. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

The angel screamed again and collapsed in an ungraceful heap onto the filthy floor.

He crawled over to the man's body. It felt unusually cold and waxy under the light touch of his caressing fingertips. The angel slumped over the body pulled his own knees inwards, and clutched the corpse as if it were some doll; holding it in a deranged and fragile way. He was shaking fiercely, his cheeks slicked with shining tears.

"Go. . . away . . ."

Bakura hesitated. "I can't."

After a few moments, Ryou half-tilted his head. A hard glare, through the corner of a shadowed pair of yellow-golden eyes, where different emotions flickered; Of anger, of madness.

"Why?"

". . . because you're my prey."

Ryou didn't immediately respond. He lay there in a crumpled form, crying and shaking silently.

"Better. . . me . . than a . . . human." He said finally. "I. . . won't die. . . I can't. No matter . . . how hard I try to. _I just can't die! Death won't accept me! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of everything! Fuck death!"_

Bakura wasn't sure at all how to react to there outbursts. This angel-- if that was what it could be referred to as appropriately— was just as bad as he, or any of the other demons. Except for the fact that Bakura had never regretted his murders, and he doubted that any other demon ever had either.

"Then. . . you'll accept it?"

"Huh?" Ryou's eyes were distant and hazy. "_Accept_. . .?"

Bakura grinned. He'd never expected that it could possibly have been so easy. The angel had just pronounced himself to be the demon's prey.

"Oh. . . Angel-kun. . ." Bakura grabbed Ryou in a stealthy quick movement, lifting him swiftly up from his weakened form. "This ungrateful immense of fresh blood. . . it turns me on. Blood. I lust for it. I lust for prey. My prey. You are my prey now. . . It's best this way. A blood-smothered beauty."

Bakura tightened his hold on the angel, pressing the smaller boy against him, pushing him inwards. Ryou's shaking has practically ceased, only to be replaced by a lewd composure of haughty breathing and blushing.

"You can't. . ." Ryou whimpered, slowly coming to his sense. "I said let go!"

Bakura licked the blood that had trickled down from Ryou's scalp and his cheek. Blood. Angel's blood— it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Sweet and salty and fresh and warm and so filling. He grasped the angel's unusually womanly and small hand and licked the blood from it's fingers with a snake-like tongue.

Ryou gasped and flushed a vivid shade of pink. He twitched but didn't yank his arm away.

"You seem to be going into withdrawal after committing one of God's most hated sins, Angel-kun. Why aren't you resisting?"

"Resist. . . ing?" Ryou echoed, and something sparked in the depths of his unemotional and delirious eyes.

"Yes. Resist. Don't be boring now."

Bakura sucked the blood off the boy's neck.

"Boring?. . ." Ryou yanked out of Bakura's grasp and pushed him away. "Boring? I'm anything but that. And I'm not about to let you take advantage of me, either, you stupid demon— go away— I didn't mean it—"

"Too. . . _late_."

Bakura looped one arm around Ryou's waist, the other snapped Ryou's chin upwards, and he pressed the boy's small form against his own.

"_Ahhh_—" Ryou gasped at the wave of body heat seeping through his clothes and the demon's sudden strength.

Bakura sank his fangs into the angel's neck. The teeth slid deep into the flesh effortlessly.

Ryou screamed.

Blood splattered forward, the most shocking amounts of it, seeping down from Ryou's lame form onto the dirtied cement.

Ryou's eyes were wide. He was motionless, collapsed in shock, and beginning to shake.

"_AHHHH!"_ Ryou slapped a hand to his neck, but the fingers slid down and he convulsed and vomited all over the floor.

"_You._ . . _BASTARD!"_ He screamed. _"GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

He swiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and whipped around. "You!—"

"Leave?" Bakura taunted, looming over the angel, just out of reach. "Never. You're delicious. It's a _delusion_ to believe that I'd leave your side now."

Ryou glared at him. He was once again shaking violently, and his body felt drained and numb and he suddenly fought to stay conscious.

"No," He said simply. His senses blurred and he felt himself falling. The last sensation he had before he fell unconscious was that of a large strong pair of hands embracing him, and fresh wet saliva stinging on his neck.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(A/N:)

Blah.

The ugly dude dies in the typical Tokyo Babylon/X/CLAMP style. Fist through the chest. I realized that after I wrote it. xD I love CLAMP's goriness, (for some reason, that word looks like "gayness," though I do love CLAMP's that too, lol.)

Maybe I shouldn't watch the anime Higurashi no Naku Koro ni before writing fanfic again... it tends to be make bloodbaths out of simple tasks. (IT RHYMES! Kinda...)


End file.
